Strong
by musicalfreak86
Summary: Effie has learned over the years that she must stay strong because she is all her tributes have to rely on. Hayffie
1. Chapter 1

**I'm thinking this will be two, _possibly_ three chapters. So it's gonna be very short. =]**

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Their tributes are doomed. Effie Trinket always knows this from the very start. She looks into their terrified faces and knows that there is no hope. It's always the same. Huge, gray eyes. Shadows cast on their faces in places that should not be hollow. She has learned to keep the tears back.

She watches the stylists, shallow, flawed people, throw together outfits, costumes really, that in their Capitol minds are brilliant. She knows as soon as she sees the coal miner headpieces and black soot that no sponsor will bat an eye at these poor children. They won't be getting any help in the Arena.

So she does the best she can before she has to send them into the Arena to die. She keeps them on schedule, so they at least get as much training as possible before they actually have to use it. She drags them to every meal, not that they would skip one anyway, to ensure that they get strong and healthy. And she tries her best to make Haymitch Abernathy do his job.

She hated him at first. For several years, she hated him because he was making her look bad, and she was never going to be promoted to a better District when she couldn't even control her own mentor. And then she hated him for several more years because he was refusing to even try helping these poor children.

And then she started to realize that he is bitter. And the reason she is able to acknowledge this is because she is bitter too. She stops rolling her eyes when he reaches for the alcohol, because if it weren't for keeping up appearances, she would be reaching for it too. Hell, she would be fighting him for it, and she would win despite him having the advantage of being a Victor.

But she knows that someone needs to be strong for the kids. And since he obviously isn't going to be the one, she will have to take charge.

She she works harder. She makes the schedule tighter. She forces her smile more and more. And inside, she breaks. But she won't show it.

She will stay strong. Because she knows that no matter what, it will always hurt them more than it hurts her.


	2. Chapter 2

**It's been a while, but here's chapter two! One more to go. =]**  
**I don't own the Hunger Games.**

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Her jaw is set. He watches her out of the corner of his eye, and her jaw is set.

He recognizes this look. It always comes in the last few minutes of the Games.

Well, not the real last few minutes. District Twelve's last few minutes.

Which are usually within the first day or so.

But her jaw is set. And her hands are clenched at her sides. Bunches of fabric from today's absurd outfit are being crushed in her fists, but he can tell from the expression on her face that her outfit is for once the last thing on her mind.

He turns his face to the screen and quickly turns away again. Their male Tribute has been dead since the Bloodbath. They are only a few days into the Games, and already their female Tribute is cornered by a group of Careers.

He knows what is coming. He feels no need to watch. So instead, he watches her.

He knows that that dress must be made of very expensive fabric. He couldn't care less, but watching her crush it so carelessly in her hands makes him reevaluate how he thinks of her.

He knows that he shouldn't be watching her like this when children are being slaughtered on the screen right in front of him. But in this moment, he would give anything for a distraction from what is happening on the television.

He looks at her posture, how tense she is. She is leaning forward ever so slightly, and he wonders if she is clenching her fists so hard to keep from covering her face. He knows that she has the tendency to cover her face when she is upset.

Could she really care more about the children than she lets on?

That is a stupid question. Of course she does. He can tell by the look on her face as she sits here watching what they both know is the female Tribute's last moments alive. The female Tribute whose name he doesn't even bother remembering because he knows she won't live long enough for him to ever use it again.

She knows the name. She knows both Tributes' names.

He glances back at the screen and sees that the Careers are closing in. Any moment now...

And yes, there goes the cannon.

He sighs and gets up from the sofa as the hovercraft appears and scoops the lifeless body of their dead Tribute into the air. As he makes his way over to the drinks, he hears the commentators saying something that's supposed to be funny about how District Twelve never makes it far into the Games. He doesn't find it funny.

As he pours his drink, he glances back at the sofa where she still sits. She has not moved, even though their job is done and the Games have gone on. He will be sent home tomorrow. He has nothing left to do here. He will be able to leave her and the Capitol behind, something he longs for every year, though it means both children are dead.

As much as she annoys him, and as much as he can't wait to leave her behind, he can't help but feel a little bad. He knows that she has not been able to harden her heart yet. He knows that she gets her hopes up every year just to have them crushed. She is still so young and innocent, though she really is not that much younger than he is. But she looks so much like a child herself, sitting by herself on that huge Capitol sofa, watching the Games through eyes that he knows aren't really seeing the Games anymore.

He pours a second drink.

By the time he has crossed back over to the sofa, her face is in her hands.


	3. Chapter 3

**Here we go! The last chapter! I hope you've enjoyed it!**  
**I'm going to be out on a slight (two week) hiatus come Thursday, but after that, I'll be back to writing! And hopefully I'll get some more of Letters to a Dead Girl written, if anyone still reads that. If you haven't, go check it out! There'll be some Hayffie in there eventually, I swear!**  
**I do not own the Hunger Games.**

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She doesn't know how long she can continue to do this. Every year, she picks names out of a giant bowl, and the children she picks are led to their demise. They are paraded around, told that they have a chance of going home, and then killed on live television.

She is the angel of death.

This revelation brings tears to her eyes, and she covers her face in her hands to contain the choked noise that threatens to escape.

Her last Tribute is dead. Yet another year has gone by, and she has assisted in killing two more innocent children. Her world has stopped yet again, but all around her life goes on. The Capitol citizens continue to bet, the other Tributes in the Arena continue to pick each other off one by one, and Haymitch Abernathy will be sent home tomorrow.

She will be left alone once again with only her conscience to keep her company. And that is some lonely and miserable company.

She is pulled out of her thoughts by something nudging her shoulder. She doesn't want to uncover her face, because a few tears have escaped, and she doesn't want anyone to see her cry. She doesn't have the right to cry. Not even in front of Haymitch. _Especially_ notin front of Haymitch.

"Come on, Sweetheart. It's not like you weren't expecting it."

His voice grates on her nerves so badly, and his offhanded way of talking about what has just happened makes her want to throttle him. But she also knows that he is right. She was expecting it. Deep down, she knew that it was inevitable, but she let her hope overtake her sense. And came out heartbroken yet again.

Another of those choked sobs makes its way out of her throat, and this time she is unable to control it being audible.

She can't help but be angry with herself. She has no right to cry. This is her job, this is what she wanted. She applied for this position eagerly. She knew that it would bring her fame and fortune.

How could she have been so blind, so _selfish?_

He watches her sit there, looking like nothing more than a frightened child herself. Inwardly, he groans.

Damnit, why does he have to feel bad for her? She is the last person in the world he should be feeling bad for. She comes to the District every year, bringing the Capitol stench with her, and draws the names of innocent children who will be sent to the slaughter. He does not want to feel bad for her.

And yet, he does. Somehow he just can't help it.

He nudges her shoulder. He is to the point where he is ready to spill the drink on her just to get her to emerge from behind her hands. He knows she will yell at him, but he is prepared for that, in exchange for her acting _normal _again. He _wants _her to yell at him.

"Come on, Sweetheart," he says. "It's not like you weren't expecting it."

At this, she lets out a small sob, and his heart sinks. She really is upset.

He is no good at comforting women. His small bits of experience with real relationships has shown him this quite clearly. He is much better at making them angry with him.

So he does what he does best. Leaning over, he very carefully "accidentally"spills some of the drink he poured up on her.

She gasps and jumps up, surprised by the sudden coldness running down the side of her leg. She has forgotten all about not wanting him to see her crying. Instead, she is glaring daggers at him.

'Finally,' he thinks to himself. 'This is more like the Effie I know.'

He is even more satisfied when she launches into a rant at him. She yells at him for everything she can think of the yell at him about. His abysmal manners, how he doesn't even seem to care about the children they bring here, how he doesn't try to help them at all by sealing the sponsors she works her tail off to find when it isn't even her job.

He sits back and listens, trying not to smile. He is simply too relieved that she is back to her normal self. He does make a mental note of the fact that tears are still running down her face, smudging her makeup and revealing more of her natural face than he thinks he has ever seen before. But then her rant switches gears, and he finds himself intensely uncomfortable.

Suddenly she is talking about the Capitol. And not in the way he is used to hearing. Usually, she only speaks good of the Capitol, which makes sense, because it is her home city. Usually she is so gushingly bubbly about the city that it makes him want to puke even more than his steady diet of alcohol does.

But there is no gushing happening now. What is happening now is more anger than he thinks he has ever seen coming out of her tiny person. He doesn't think he has ever known so much rage to come out of her, even when he has done something incredibly stupid and ruined chances at sponsors. When she yells at him for that, there is no hatred in her voice. But now, he hears nothing but hatred. And it is directed at her very own Capitol.

She yells about the corruption. The corruption of the government, the corruption of the system, the corruption of the Games. She yells about the destruction of innocence, and all for entertainment. She yells about her own job, about having to pick the names of those who will be slaughtered every year, and pretend to enjoy it as she does it.

There are tears running down her face the entire time she yells, and he sits, mesmerized, having never even dreamed that this bubbly, pink, Capitol woman could be so intelligent or have so many harsh feelings toward the place she is supposed to call home.

He is more than contented to sit there and listen to the rant. Not only is it refreshing to hear her yell about something other than him, but finds himself actually interested in what she has to say. In someone else's views on the situation at hand. But when she starts in on President Snow, that's when the realization hits him like a ton of bricks.

_Bugs._

The whole penthouse is probably bugged. In fact, he knows almost for sure that it is. A President like Snow would never risk people speaking ill of him or the government in his very own Capitol. Someone as frightened as he is of an uprising would surely have all the floors of the Training Center bugged.

He has to do something. He has to shut her up before she gets herself in trouble with the President. As much as she gets on his nerves on a regular basis, he can't bear the thought of her being punished for speaking what he knows is only the truth.

Before he gets the chance to think, he has jumped up. She falters slightly when she sees how close together they are, and before she can react he has kissed her.

It's not the most pleasant kiss he has ever had. She is still angry, and it's rather wet, because the tears are still falling fast and heavy down her face. He can taste the lipstick she is wearing, and she has stiffened at the unexpected contact.

After several seconds have passed, he breaks the kiss.

'Watch what you say,' he mouths to her, and she is too shocked to do anything but nod. She is still riled up, and he can feel her trembling in his arms. Again, his body reacts before his brain, and he pulls her against him in a tight embrace.

At the kind gesture, she breaks down completely and begins sobbing against his jacket. His hand moves up and down her back in a soothing manner, and she clutches fistfuls of his jacket as she sobs away all the feelings that have been gathering throughout the Games she has escorted. She lets go, and it _hurts, _all of it coming out at once when she has fought so hard to keep it in.

He sinks down to the couch with her still in his arms, and he holds her until she begins to calm down. She relaxes against him, and after a long while has passed, he realizes that she has fallen asleep.

He still doesn't care. He tells himself that, as he leans back against the arm of the sofa with her resting gently on top of him. But he is beginning to have a very hard time convincing himself, as he feels her gentle breathing.

He only has one more night before he is sent home for another year. He can at least sit here and be there for her. Goodness knows she has been there for him enough, though he barely realizes it.

Sometimes, even the strong must fall.


End file.
